Shane (Damage Control #4) Page 4

  I shift, my pants growing uncomfortably tight. Which is good. Fucking good that I can get it up again for a pretty girl, even if I can never go through with it. Even though it’s Cassie and I’m not what she needs.

  She wants guys who will take her to bed for the night, satisfy her, calm down that bright energy she has. Guys who don’t have to think twice before having sex, who don’t freak out at the mere thought of pressing up naked against a chick and sinking into her pussy, pressing their face against her tits and...

  Fucking hell.

  Ow. Need to shift my dick before it breaks, but she’s sitting right beside me. Damn awkward, and the craziest thing is that I don’t wanna move. I kinda like how she’s curled up beside me, engrossed in that zombie series everyone is talking about, the kind of thing I never watch because it makes my nightmares worse, but hell, who cares about that right now?

  I like having her close, her sweet vanilla smell winding around me like a vine. I can imagine her pale hair wrapped around my fist as I pull her head back and fuck her from behind, taking her—

  “Fuck.” I jerk to my feet and storm toward the bathroom.

  “Shane! Everything okay?”

  Fuck, no. Nothing’s okay. I slam the bathroom door shut and reach into my pants to straighten my aching dick, then put down the toilet lid and sit down on it, my head in my hands.

  She knocks on the door, but I don’t answer. Why is she here? Meeting her at Halo, among other people, was doable. The others distracted me. I managed to push away the attraction, to ignore how damn pretty she is, how brightly her smile shines.

  To ignore the fact she’s attracted to Jesse, not to me. Even though now she’s saying she didn’t mean it, I don’t know… You don’t just kiss any random guy, do you?

  Can’t remember ever kissing a girl.

  I lift my hand to my mouth.

  “Shane, are you all right in there? I’m coming in.”

  What the…?

  The door opens and she walks inside, her brows lifting when she sees me. And before I can move or say a word, she’s kneeling between my legs, putting her hands on my thighs.

  “Why won’t you answer? What is wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Except she’s between my legs, looking up at me with those blue eyes, her mouth pink and lush, and my dick is quickly reaching critical mass.

  Dammit.

  “You should go home,” I rasp, my voice shot to hell. “It’s late.”

  “Can’t I crash here? On the couch?”

  “No.” I shake my head, because I want to smash my fist into the wall. “No, you can’t, Cassie.”

  “But you said it yourself. It’s late, and it’s cold outside. If you—”

  “Why are you doing this?” I hiss. “Why the hell are you here?” Oh fuck. I clench my hands into fists, dig my short nails into my palms to regain control.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” she says quietly, her hands still on my thighs, warm. Her eyes are wide, earnest. “About what happened at Halo, but now I’m here, and…”

  I wait but she doesn’t continue. “And what?”

  “And I like being around you. You make me feel calm, and good.” She gives me a faint smile. “And I’m worried.”

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  “Why the fuck are you worried about me?”

  “Because you look tired, and out of sorts. Are you sick? Or has something bad happened? Can I help?”

  Her eyes are soft and concerned, and I don’t know how to deal with this. I have this urge to cover her hands with mine, or to take her face and kiss her, and fighting it is harder than it should be.

  “I’ll be fine.” I cast about for something to say, something normal, something friends say to each other. “Thank you.”

  Her smile brightens for a moment. Then she gets to her feet and gestures at the door behind her. “I’ll be on my way then. Sleep tight, Shane.”

  Just like that, she walks away, and by the time I gather my thoughts and wander into the living room, she’s already gone.

  ***

  My sleep is a maze of deadly turns. Blood is slithering on the floor, snakes of crimson, chasing me as I stumble from room to room, and that ever-present smell of cinnamon and sour sweat. Bars block my way, and then fists, and then I wake up with a scream dying in my mouth, tangled up in my blanket on the sofa.

  What the fuck.

  Sweat is drying on my face and chest, the T-shirt stuck to my skin. My stomach is twisted up in a knot, nausea rising in my throat.

  At least I didn’t sleepwalk or anything else weird this time.

  Grinding my teeth, I roll on my side and try to gauge from the light seeping through the curtains if it’s morning yet or not. Can’t really tell.

  Too tired to move. Thirsty. Cold. Feeling like days-old roadkill.

  That’s what I get for watching flesh-eating zombies on TV. Cassie and her bright ideas.

  Me and my even brighter ones, like letting her in. Sitting beside her. Allowing myself to hope for… not even sure what. Something. With her. Some more of that warmth that fills me when she’s around.

  Hell, Shane. She’s right. What’s wrong with you? It’s as if every fucking defense I have is crashing down, one after the other, leaving me exposed.

  Work starts later today, plenty of time to catch the bus to the construction site, and I stay curled up on the sofa, lost in between sleep and wake, too drained to get up and refusing to go back to sleep and the nightmares waiting there.

  Eventually, though, I roll off the sofa and make some coffee. Black, bitter, with heaps of sugar, and still my brain is sluggish, my eyelids heavy.

  Despair haunts the corners of my consciousness. Can’t do this every night—fighting monsters and memories. Returning to the pit where I thought my life would end.

  Snap out of it, Shane. You’re a grown man. Men don’t go to pieces for no reason. What happened in the past stays in the past, and you move on. You fucking did it before, you do it again. Same thing.

  Only it’s not. When I came out of prison, I shoved everything down and pretended nothing had happened, that I could take it in stride. But the memories are like living things, scratching the surface, trying to get free. Driving me crazy.

  I slam my mug on the table, cracking it. Hot coffee spills down, on my feet, and I barely feel it.

  I’m not fucking crazy. I won’t break. Not sure right now why it’s important, why it matters, can’t think of a reason… but I won’t let the nightmares have me.

  You can’t have me, motherfuckers. I survived that prison, and I won’t be taken down by dreams.

  ***

  Despite the resolutions made in my kitchen at the crack of dawn, after hauling pipes and crates and dismantling scaffolding for hours on end in the freezing wind and falling snow, I’m ready to throw in the towel, curl up and not get up again.

  My heavy work boots drag on the frozen ground. My back and arm muscles are screaming as I carry yet another pipe to a pile at one end of the construction site, the helmet falling over my eyes. Melting snow is running down my neck, and my hair, caught at the back of my neck, is wet and heavy.

  Dropping the pipe on the pile, I bend over and brace my hands on my knees, panting. Black is eating at the edges of my vision. I need a break, but that’s not yet in the cards. I shouldn’t be so damn exhausted so early, but after the night I had with the nightmares from hell, it’s a wonder I’m still on my damn feet.

  “Tucker. Over here!” That’s Peter Josh, the site superintendent, waving an arm to catch my attention. “Come help Ollie take down this scaffold.”

  Straightening, I slog toward them, shaking my head every few steps like a dog, trying to clear my vision. It’s kinda blurry. Like my mind. Like I’m not one hundred percent awake.

  Shit.

  Just gotta steer clear of machinery and not drop anything on anyone. Just one more hour, then I’m off, back… home. Though it doesn’t feel like home. Nothing
has, since my mom died. Feels like yesterday, and yet it feels like a thousand years have passed. I can almost see it in my mind’s eye—glaciers rising and melting, the ocean retreating, trees growing from saplings to behemoths, reaching for the sky—

  “Up here, Tucker.” Ollie waves from his perch fifteen feet above ground, on the scaffold he’s dismantling, and I think I see more guys up there. “Hurry up. I wanna finish with this and go home to my kids.”

  Home. That word again.

  Something is nagging at me, and I glance up again, try to see the guys huddled with Ollie on top of the scaffold. My stomach cramps.

  What the fuck? Just because I don’t know them, doesn’t mean they’re danger.

  Get on with it, Shane.

  I wipe my gloved hands on my pants, glance up at the moody sky, lick my cracked lips and start up the hook-up ladder on the side of the scaffolding. The muscles in my arms and legs burn with fatigue, and I focus on gripping carefully the rungs that are slippery with ice.

  If only I could focus on my training at Damage Control, finish it and start working there… Then I wouldn’t have to be out in the fucking wind and the swirling snow, climbing scaffolds and carrying pipes.

  Seth might be done with the training before me, Zane said, and that’s great. Seth is an awesome artist, and he’s humble. He’d never admit it if asked. After what he went through a couple of months back—all the beatings he took, and the accidents… Fuck yeah, he’s entitled to some good luck and happiness. God knows my half-brother deserves it, and more, for taking care of me too many times to count.

  Even if he doesn’t really know what happened at the prison and…

  Spicy smell of cinnamon, and hands reaching for me. The snick of a match being lit, a flare of hot embers at the tip of a cigarette—

  A face appears over me, one I see in my nightmares, in my memories, a man’s bearded face with a scar below one eye.

  “Miss me, little bitch?” he asks, and my heart stops.

  Fuck.

  My vision blurs. He shoves at me—and my hands slip from the rung. I jerk, making a grab for the ladder and miss, tumbling backward. Dimly I hear someone call my name. The ground isn’t far, I think, I haven’t climbed up high yet, and…

  A moment of suspension in the air.

  A crash. An impact knocking the air from my lungs.

  I’m lying on my back on the ground, staring up at the bruised clouds. Bruised and lost, like me.

  “Shane. Shane, hey!” Someone’s leaning over me. Bright yellow helmet, reflective vest. “You okay?”

  Why does everyone keep asking me that these days? Do I look okay? I can’t breathe…

  Then my lungs finally expand, and I gulp in air, which may or may not be a mistake because ow, fuck, my back hurts. I curl on my side, coughing.

  “He can move,” someone says as more people arrive, gathering around me. “Looks like he didn’t break anything.”

  “Shane.” Hands pull on me, helping me to sit up. “What the hell happened?”

  I slipped, I think. I slipped and fell, and shit, too many men around me, looming over me. My heart is pounding hard, trying to break through my chest, and my lungs won’t work properly.

  “Seth?” The prison walls close around me as the men pull me under the showerhead, icy water spraying me as they beat me up and tear at my clothes. I kick at them, twist in their hold. “Shit, get off me, get your fucking hands off me!”

  Help me…

  ***

  Someone gave me a blanket, and I’m wrapped in it, sitting inside the construction office. The wind howls outside. It’s cold in here, but dry, although it doesn’t matter anymore. The melted snow has seeped into my clothes, my boots, into my skin, and deeper, the ice crackling as it spreads inside me.

  Can’t remember how I got here. Why can’t I remember? A shiver wracks me, and my bruised back spasms. I remember… the prison. A face with a scar.

  Why the fuck do I remember that? The prison was at least two years ago. I’m at… the construction site. Where I work.

  I prod my mind, cautiously, like some snarling animal caught in shadows. Something happened. I was lying on the ground, looking up at the gray clouds. There were men around me.

  No, before that.

  A sensation of falling. An impact. I frown, trying to piece the memories together. To decide what really happened and what didn’t. I’ve struggled with that since the prison. Did I really fall? Or slip on the ice? Did someone hit me, or is the pain in head and my back from hitting the ground?

  Holy shit…

  The door opens, slamming against the metal wall, and I jump to my feet, pressing back into the corner of the container. My heart’s racing, and my stomach’s in a twist. Bile rises in my throat, acid touches the back of my tongue.

  “Shane?” Seth is standing there, stock-still, staring at me. What is he doing here?

  Is this real?

  Fucking hell, is this a flashback?

  “Shane, breathe.” Seth takes a step toward me, stops. His hair is wet, like mine, topped with fresh snowflakes. “Breathe, man. It’s okay.”

  Snowflakes. Snow. That’s real, right?

  “They called me,” he says, slowly, patiently. “Peter Josh, the superintendent. Said you fell from a scaffold, but you’re okay. You were lucky, cuz. Didn’t break anything. I came to drive you home.”

  This is real.

  I nod, trying to find my voice. It won’t come.

  “Come on.” Seth beckons but doesn’t come nearer. He knows the rules. “The car’s outside the gate. The snow has almost stopped.” His eyes narrow. “You sure you’re okay? Nothing broken or sprained?”

  Any other man would assume that’s not the case, seeing as I’m standing on my own, but Seth knows better. Me and him, we’ve learned to keep going, pushing through the pain.

  “I’m good,” I finally rasp, my voice a naked whisper. I want to thank him for coming to pick me up, like always, for always having my back—but I can’t find the words right now. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Nobody approaches us as we make our way to the car. I still have the blanket around my shoulders, but I’m reluctant to give it back. Reluctant to stop—and think, and remember, and freak out over my inability to control my mind, my perception, and the way the past is sinking its teeth into my life.

  The fact that I’m fucking losing it and don’t know how to stop it.

  I do a double take when we reach the car. Guess Seth kinda forgot to mention he had more people with him.

  Shit.

  As I open the door and slide into the back seat, I realize it’s Manon sitting in the passenger seat in front of me. She’s twisted around, looking back at me, her dark eyes round.

  And beside me, I find Cassie.

  My brain is shutting down again. I need time to ground myself, convince myself I’m okay, the images still flashing behind my eyelids belonging to the past. Need a moment to talk myself back from the ledge, to relax enough that the frantic rhythm of my heart slows.

  Instead, I’m pinned by two pairs of eyes, and Manon is already reaching for me. I glare at her, then flinch when Cassie puts her hand on my shoulder, and goddammit, I’m outta here. I’m already reaching for the car handle to let myself out until I can breathe again, when Seth climbs behind the wheel and thumps his fist on it.

  “Don’t touch him. Cassie, hands off. Manon, babe, don’t.” He grips Manon’s arm, tugs her back around so she faces forward, and Cassie lets go of me as if burned.

  Yeah. Welcome to the freak show.

  Embarrassment will soon hit, I know, and anger. Heat is already making a spirited attempt to climb my throat and warm my face, but I’m still too cold and numb with misery and remembered fear. My teeth are chattering in my mouth. The urge to run is still there, an itch under my skin, panic ready to leap from under the surface.

  My senses are full of sour sweat and sweet cinnamon smell.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

 
I fight the panic off as best I can while Seth puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot, then enters Saturday afternoon traffic. Questions are crowding my thoughts, and fuck, I really wish it was just me and Seth, but I need to know.

  “What happened?” I ask, not looking at him, not looking at anyone, keeping my gaze on the snow falling outside.

  “You don’t know what happened?” Cassie’s voice is high-pitched with incredulity, or annoyance, who the hell knows? She’s tugging on a red rubber bracelet she’s always wearing around her wrist. “Don’t you know what—?”

  “You fell,” Seth cuts her off. “From the scaffold. It was slippery with ice.” He pauses, and I know he’s staring at me through the rearview mirror, but I don’t look. “You blanked out for a while.”

  I nod to myself. Blanked out. That’s Seth’s code for a flashback. Losing track of reality. Mixing up past and present.

  But okay, at least now I know what was real. I fell. Nobody pushed me. Nobody hit me. And yeah, that means my brain’s all twisted up, and why? I have no fucking clue.

  “Blanked out? Why?” Manon this time, sounding worried and a little scared.

  Son of a bitch. Don’t wanna talk about this, not now. Not in front of Cassie. I glare at my reflection in the car window as darkness falls outside and consider jumping out of the moving car.

  That’d be a mercy for everyone.

  “Manon, sweetheart,” Seth mutters. “Grab me a candy bar from the glove box, will you?”

  I look up in time to see him waggle his brows at her. She laughs, bending forward to do as he asks.

  Distracting her. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and nod briefly in thanks. He nods back.

  Tighter than brothers, that’s us.

  Which is why I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me for punching him and leaving him when he needed my help the most. If he can forgive me for fucking up so badly. I’ll never forget Manon and Zane telling me he was gone, or finding him on the street later, half-frozen and hurt. He thought we’d all abandoned him.